


Anomaly

by m_l_h



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23477665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_l_h/pseuds/m_l_h
Summary: Steve is trying to fit into his new 21st century life by finding similarities with his old, but Tony Stark is an anomaly that just doesn't work.Snippets beginning around the time of the first Avengers film, finishing pre-Civil War.This was originally written as a gift for the lovely and ever fabulous Fin.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Anomaly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Finduilas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finduilas/gifts).



It was an offer he couldn’t refuse, mostly because Steve hadn’t a clue what to do or where to go. 

It was evident, just, that this strange world he had awoken in had foundations in the one he knew. Granted, he had to look hard to find them in some places, but peel back the bright lights and advanced technology and he could see a world he recognised. One where family and community came first, where blood continued to be thicker than water; a world where patriotism was not lost and the desire to succeed prolific. To his dismay, however, Steve found that conflict remained and the need to be the top of an imaginary pile was rife; a show of strength, whether on a small scale between rival gangs or at the highest level between nations, remained a necessary evil. 

His few weeks’ experience of the twenty-first century had been bewildering and fascinating. Fury’s SHIELD team had tried to ease him in gently, but once they introduced him to the internet it became a mind boggling maze of facts and misinformation and he frequently walked away from the screen with a headache. They helped him to decipher fact from fiction; he wanted to understand how his world had become what awaited him outside his apartment window and he couldn’t do that sitting at a desk or watching television. 

So when Director Fury handed him the file and offered him an opportunity at something familiar - being part of a team - he had to take the chance. What did he have to lose?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By definition, a team is a number of persons associated in some joint action - this particular group of persons were barely holding it together long enough to create anything vaguely resembling joint action. To say there was friction between them was a gross understatement; Steve, running his fingers through his hair as Thor inhaled deeply, preparing for a second round in his ongoing verbal bout with Tony, could see why. 

To imagine, back in his own time, collecting a more disparate group of people would have been impossible. With the exception of himself and Thor, Steve was unaware of how frequently the other Avengers had needed to work together for a common goal. They had all been brought up in different times, different worlds; their morals, beliefs and opinions shaped by their varied and unique experiences. Each had their own take on a situation and the best way to achieve an acceptable, if not ideal outcome. 

Like the new world which had greeted him recently, Steve tried to find familiar characteristics in his new team to allow him to rationalise their behaviour and understand their points of view. 

Clint could have been any of the loyal and dedicated soldiers who he served with in the war, who he led in the forties. Highly skilled and capable, with an edge of dedicated fearlessness to him, Steve didn’t doubt that whatever conclusion the group came to, Clint would be one of the first into battle. 

Steve couldn’t look at Natasha without a hint of sadness, of regret. Her strength, cunning and tenacity were akin to Peggy; both determined women ahead of their time, both looking to make a difference. She reminded Steve of the life he could have had, were it not for the interference of Hydra. When that wave of emotion hit, Steve found he had to leave the room to regather his thoughts.

Doctor Banner, a quiet soul which concealed the storm Steve now knew to be brewing underneath; he reminded Steve of Howard Stark, less of a whirlwind but no less brilliant. He was happiest when solving a problem, challenging his mind; Steve felt that there was always some sort of conundrum working its way through his synapses. 

Then there was Tony, clearly Howard’s son but with more than a dash of twenty-first century eccentricity. Tony was the anomaly in Steve’s plan to normalise his new life. There was no comparable, no point of reference from seventy years ago. Tony was unique, made from a mould Steve had not seen before and it both intrigued and unnerved him. He was never really sure how to take Tony’s forward, flamboyant mannerisms; his narcissism grated on Steve’s nerves and he struggled with it the most - such behaviour tended to be a person’s downfall. He would need to find common ground with this maverick to allow their situation to work efficiently. 

When he was a boy in school, between avoiding bullies and looking after his mother, he struggled through lessons on Maths and Science like they were a foreign language. Steve was smart, but he didn’t necessarily have the focus and drive required to become top of the class. Academia was not his forte; he had common sense, a desire to do good, to make sure the right thing was being done. He wanted to be able to stand up for the little guy; the only problem was, he was the little guy. Steve stuck out like a sore thumb in every respect; he had never really found a place where he truly fitted in - had Bucky not taken Steve under his wing early on, Steve doubted he would be around to see the craziness unfolding before him. Looking at the mixture of heroes, spies and gods surrounding him, he wasn’t sure this was where he was meant to fit either. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything, both physically and mentally, had been taken from him. Chitauri had flooded the streets, scaled buildings and rained all sorts of hell down on them. Yet they had survived, and they had done so because the Avengers had finally figured out how to work together. Their strengths and weaknesses were worlds apart (literally, in Thor’s case); combining their attributes and skills had given them the upper hand over the alien race. A few weeks ago, even a few days ago, Steve would not have backed them. Now, he stood amongst them with pride. 

Adrenaline coursed through Steve’s veins and flashbacks to battles of years ago came to him. Standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder with his brothers in arms: ducking and diving from enemy fire: kneeling over fallen comrades. To make it so far, to see off hundreds, thousands of chiaturi only to find Tony lying on the ground unconscious. Steve’s heart sank through the floor. They hadn’t seen eye to eye, that was for sure, but he respected Tony’s desire to do the right thing, to defend those who couldn’t defend themselves; it struck Steve, in that moment, that he and Tony did have something in common. It was unfortunate that he hadn’t found their common ground sooner. 

Hulk’s roar startled him, but not as much as the apparently not-so-deceased Tony. Between fatigue and pain, relief flooded through Steve as Tony rapidly regained consciousness; as both he and Thor helped Tony back to his feet (his suit of armour was in no shape to be doing the work) he vowed to himself to make some sort of peace with Tony - they could agree to disagree at times, but with a bit of compromise here and there he hoped they could work together. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you ok?” 

It was a simple, but loaded question. Steve had been out the other side of many battles - granted, none like New York - and he knew what it’s like to return to the “real world”, to have to fit back into a normal life. He couldn’t imagine how much harder that must be if you didn’t have a normal life to begin with.

“Who let you in?” Tony moved quickly between workbenches, digitally projected plans and a partially constructed Iron Man suit, nimbly skirting around various robots awaiting commands. The one wearing the ‘dunce’ hat gave Steve a good idea of Tony’s current state of mind. “Jarvis? Was it you? Of course it was,” Tony avoided making eye contact with Steve, who was almost sure that it was an intentional action; “How many times have I told you Jarvis? Please stop letting people randomly into my house. Or at least give me heads up, if you would be so kind.” Pausing only to take a long swig from a mug, he grabbed a screwdriver and set to work on a faceplate. 

“Tony, stop. You haven’t slept in days. You haven’t been out…”

“How do you know?” Tony stopped in front of Steve, holding a stare barely seconds before rushing off again. “Have you been spying on me? Keeping tabs Cap? You don’t have to, I’ve got plenty to do here to...” He was stopped mid-sentence and mid-stride as Steve grabbed him tightly. 

“Tony, please. Just stop.” 

Steve clearly had the physical edge over Tony, but nonetheless he made an effort to get free. He was held firm, prevented from darting off again. Tony looked everywhere but directly at Steve, who was intent on getting him to settle for a moment or two. 

“Tony, I know what you’re going through. It’s been weeks since the battle; trying to get back to the usual way of life isn’t easy,” Steve said, fingers still holding Tony’s arms firmly in their grasp. “What you’ve seen, what we all saw, it changes you. It changes how you view the world and makes you think about what’s really important. I know that.”

“So you know what I’m going through then?” There was more than a hint of derision in Tony’s response. “You know what it’s like to face your own death, effectively your own suicide? You know what it feels like to take a bomb, a fucking bomb Steve, and fly it through some sort of weird-ass wormhole into space? To see with your own eyes what that space actually looks like?” Each question was rhetorical, each coming at Steve with greater contempt. “No, you haven’t a bloody clue, so please don’t come here with all your upright, wholesome Captain America bullshit.”

The words stung, yet Steve knew the force behind them was not fuelled by anger at him, but at the situation. Steve recognised the trauma, the post-traumatic stress evident in his colleague, his friend. Releasing him back to his work, Steve thought that maybe he hadn’t been the best person to try to deal with the situation. Tony, still somewhat of an enigma to Steve, coped very differently in situations in comparison with most people. Steve expecting to understand Tony’s behaviour was like expecting to see pigs fly. Leaving as quietly as he arrived, Steve made a note to ask Natasha or Rhodey to check in on Tony, soon. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well would you look at what the cat dragged in,” Tony greeted Steve with a welcoming hug as Steve dropped his bag in the kitchen. The compound had been fairly empty with most of the crew on yet another SHIELD mission (Steve had lost count over the past few months) and Steve didn’t want to think about what Tony had been up to in his spare, unsupervised time. 

“Well, did you get the bad guys?” 

Steve laughed tiredly, “of course.”

He received a cheeky grin in response, “my hero.” 

“Dare I ask what you’ve been up to?”

“Oh just the usual; designing the new mansion, training my new robotic assistants, building a new engine for the quinjet... Oh, and I fixed that broken lock on the bathroom door too.”

“Where would we be without you?” 

Pouring a glass of water Steve sat in front of the TV in the common room, watching the muted news reports flickering past. Tony sat next to him; “It’s good to have you back.”

“Not for long sadly,” Steve resisted the urge to tell Tony to get his feet off the coffee table. 

“Oh? No rest for the wicked?”

Steve chuckled, “Apparently not. We got word on the way back, something about a SHIELD vessel in trouble. This stop’s short and sweet, I’m afraid.” 

“You’re a glutton for punishment, Rogers.” 

“You know me, Tony, I can’t let a situation slide.” 

“And that’s why we love you,” Tony replied, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before heading back to his beloved workshop. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The compound and its surroundings provided solitude from the world outside. Despite being a (super soldier’s) stone’s throw from the city, the specially designed and constructed facility was like a little haven made for over productive minds and weary bodies. In his early days there Steve had mapped out the largest circuit he could run to clear his head; exiting the back of the main building he would disappear into the trees, his brain having to focus on avoiding branches rather than whatever threat was looming; taking a wide anticlockwise loop encircling all the ancillary buildings, before cutting off at a tangent down to the river for a few hundred metres. He didn’t run on the stones lining the riverbank, but within sight of the water, before turning back towards the buildings again. Today, however, he detoured to the uneven ground; sitting beside the calm water, the toes of his worn trainers inches from the edge he breathed deeply, allowing the fresh air to fill his lungs. He had long since lost count of how many laps of his circuit he had completed. 

Bucky was gone, again. 

Except this time it was different. Steve had spent months mourning his childhood friend over seventy years ago and had learned to accept his tragic absence. Now, for a brief moment, his companion had returned; if it wasn’t for the memory of Bucky’s fist striking his face repeatedly, the heartbreaking look on Bucky’s face as his own memories fought to be recognised Steve would believe he had been dreaming. His own body rescued at the side of the river was evidence that maybe, just maybe the Bucky he remembered was in there somewhere. 

“Penny for them.”

Steve jumped, just a little, at the comment. “Sorry?”

“Your thoughts, Cap. Looks like you were planning on solving all the world’s problems,” Tony sat beside him without asking, or being asked, “Or trying to figure out what to have for dinner.”

“Funny, Tony.”

The sun shone high in the mid-afternoon sky, an occasional breeze taking the edge off its heat. The scuffed edges of Tony’s worn jeans touched the edge of the water as he stretched out his legs, doing his best to get comfortable. His familiar sunglasses protected his eyes and a hint of a smile lingered on his lips. 

“You’ll find him again.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I mean, he could be anywhere; he’ll be scared, confused,” Steve threw a stone into the river, watching its ripples make their way across its surface. He wanted nothing more right now, than to track his best friend down, to help him remember who he used to be. Steve didn’t want to consider all the things Bucky might have done thanks to Hydra; it wouldn’t be easy to forget, but if he could help Bucky reconcile those things, that might be enough.

“Steve, you’re one of the most stubbornly determined men I’ve had the pleasure of knowing,” Tony began, “and it won’t matter how many stones need turned, or how many punches need thrown, you’ll find him. I’m obviously not a gambling man,” Steve couldn’t help but meet what he thought was Tony’s gaze, “but I’d back you all the way on this one Cap.” 

The hand now resting on his arm was firm and comforting; it was difficult to argue with Tony Stark, that Steve knew for a fact. “And if you need anything, you’ll let me know, yeah?” Tony unnecessarily helped Steve to his feet. “I will. Thank you, Tony.” 

A week later and Natasha stopped Steve in the corridor, first with a look, then “I’ve got something.” She handed a somewhat blurry, black and white photograph which looked like it came from CCTV. “Where is this?” They fell into step, back towards the office Natasha had claimed as her own - side of the building, a view of the main entrance of the compound, easy access to Tony’s workshop - as she explained that the photo had been taken just over a week ago in London. She handed Steve three more from her desk. “London, six days ago; Paris four days ago and Berlin two days ago. We’re on his trail now, Steve.” 

Steve flicked through the images, some in more detail than others. It was clear, however, that the man in them was Bucky. Not quite the Bucky he knew, but Bucky nonetheless. He was halfway out the door when Natasha stopped him; “There’s no point in rushing yet, Steve. He hasn’t stopped moving yet. Look at the pattern, he’s moving to a different city every couple of days.” Steve looked at the images again, more closely; each appeared to be taken in or near transport hubs: London’s Heathrow airport, Paris’ Gare du Nord. Natasha was right; he was going somewhere, probably somewhere he knew. By the time they made it to Berlin, he would be long gone. 

“Ok, so we wait.”

“We wait.” Steve lingered in the doorway, uneasy about their plan of action but understanding of it. “Steve, we tracked him down. We know he’s heading east. Once he’s settled, we’ll find him and go get him.”

It made sense, all of it. This was not the first time Natasha had tracked someone and she was damn good at her job. It wouldn’t be long before they were able to make their move, but Steve was left restless; he wasn’t sure what was worse - having no clue about Bucky’s whereabouts or having evidence of where he had already been. 

Sitting in the common area at 3am was becoming a more frequent occurrence for Steve. His mind raced; ideas and strategies battling with memories and hopes, all preventing him from sleep. Through expansive windows he could see the lights which illuminated the few driveways in the compound, reminding him of an airport runway. Another building visible in grey only, marked against the black of the night sky. He kept the lights in the room off, for the half moon’s light was sufficient coming through the glass. Steve idly wondered where Bucky was, what he was doing.

“If you’re going to be up this late Rogers, you should really come down and help in the workshop. I could use a strapping young lad like yourself.” Tony’s voice echoed in the quiet room. The maroon t-shirt he wore bore the evidence of another day tinkering downstairs on whatever flight of fancy had taken his imagination. It was another thing they had in common; both Tony and Steve knew the meaning of hard work and how to finish what they started. Steve hadn’t been convinced about that, not after their first fractious encounter on the helicarrier. 

“Not sure I’d be much company, but thanks for the offer.”

Steve heard the fridge door open, the rattle of glass against glass; a few moments later a bottle appeared at his side, “It’s not like you’re going to get drunk.” Steve smiled, taking the drink from Tony, who leaned against the back of the sofa. Tony took a long swig of his own drink, emptying a third of the bottle; “Tasha told me the good news.” Fiddling with the label on the bottle before taking a sip, there wasn’t much Steve could, or wanted to say on the matter.

Strong, well-worked hands rested in his shoulders; “Steve, take it from a man who has spent most of his life wanting more, wanting everything to happen faster and be even bigger and better - be patient. Spending every waking minute hypothesizing about it won’t help. If anything, it’ll make you even grumpier and…”

“I’m not grumpy,” Steve interrupted, a smile threatening. 

“Yeah, whatever, Cap. Do yourself, in fact do us all a favour - give yourself a shake, drink that beer and come to bed, get some sleep. Go to bed, I mean. You know that. Go to bed. Your bed. Where you sleep.” Tony’s empty bottle rattled in the bin behind Steve. “Now get out of here.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Abusing the punching bag relentlessly had multiple advantages; the obvious was an outlet for his growing frustration, but the second was one he kept to himself. The pain in his hands as they connected with the bag, as it exerted its revenge back on him reminded Steve that he was alive, that despite the serum he was still human. It didn’t last long, but it was enough. It was over an hour ago, maybe closer to two that he had entered the compound’s gym to vent his anger. 

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

Pausing in his onslaught, Steve caught Tony in the corner of his eye, leaning against the doorframe. He had pinned all his hopes on Budapest and they had fallen short, arriving too late. Steve couldn’t decide if he was more bitter about the fact that they had missed Bucky, or that he had pushed the team to act too soon. He was a leader, he should have known better. Steve resumed his attack.

The thump-thud-wallop of his fists landing home blocked out whatever Tony was trying to say, so he repositioned himself on the opposite side of the bag, holding it on either side. This only gave Steve a moment’s pause.

“Steve, listen to me,” thump, thump, “Steve, it wasn’t meant to…” thump, thud-thud, “Steve, would you…” wallop. Tony moved the bag to the side, causing Steve to pause mid swing. Tony sighed, “Well I’m glad your reflexes are still good, otherwise I’d be nursing one hell of a shiner right about now.” Tony stepped forward, taking the place of the bag. He waited silently as the tension in Steve’s shoulders, his expression eased. The fight wasn’t gone from him, but it waned slightly, enough that he was willing to let someone in. 

“Look, I get it, I do. You almost had him, but Steve,” Tony said slowly, placing his hands either side of Steve’s face, “You haven’t lost him for good. He’s still out there and while that’s the case, Natasha and Sam will find him.” He wasn’t defeated, but a wave of emotion took him; Steve lowered his head, staring at the floor in an attempt to avoid Tony’s gaze. Fear and sadness, despair and doubt flowed happily through his veins and as they each fought for dominance in his head and heart he wanted to curl up and, just for a moment, forget about all of it. He hadn’t felt like that since he was a teenager. Taking a deep breath for composure, he was about to come up with an excuse to leave when Tony wrapped his arms around him, holding Steve close. And for that moment, however long it was, all of the shit that awaited him outside the safety of the compound disappeared, evaporated from his thoughts. Warmth, strength, compassion held him tightly, comforting. Maybe he imagined the fingers gently stroking the hair at the back of his neck, or those placed carefully at the base of his spine; he didn’t care. Seconds, maybe minutes passed and he felt unexpected relief in Tony’s arms. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Plans, blueprints of their attack lay sprawled on Natasha’s desk; a map of Europe, with a detailed map of Romania and its capital, several surveillance photographs interspersed between. Dates and times scribbled in her handwriting made an incomplete timeline. She, along with Steve and Sam had recorded Bucky’s movements - more than two weeks in Bucharest - and devised a plan to move in. They would fly to Romania the next day, with the aim of intercepting Bucky as soon as possible. Steve had prepared, mentally and physically; he didn’t expect his old friend to come quietly, though he did hope that there wouldn’t be another physical altercation like their last. 

At nearly midnight he pored over all the information they had gathered. He trusted his team, the plan they had created together. They were an unconventional bunch, but they had found a way of working together over time. He felt particularly lucky to have found Sam, a fellow soldier who had fought in a very different style of war to Steve. They both understood the need to have faith in their brothers in arms, to have confidence and trust in their ability.

A cough behind him caught Steve’s attention; Tony came to stand beside him, eyeing the paperwork. “So your Falcon’s all set with his new wings,” he started, lifting a photo to inspect it closer. Bucky at a market four days ago, left arm hidden beneath long sleeves and gloves. “Lighter, faster; test flights were mostly successful,” Tony looked at Steve, “and it’s good to know that once all of this alien shit is over Sam has a job taking the tops off trees.” Tony replaced the picture; “looks like you have it all planned out.”

Steve sighed, “That’s what we thought last time.”

“Your surveillance, your intelligence is good, Cap.”

“Still too many variables though. I mean, he doesn’t have a regular routine; doesn’t go to the same shops, same markets. We have no visuals on his apartment; for all we know it could be bugged or rigged to hell. We have limited information on what he’s done in the past; who his targets, or what his missions were, which means we really have no clue what he’s capable of.”

“Yes you do.” Tony turned to face Steve. “He received the same supersoldier serum that you did, and we’re well aware of what you’re capable of.”

“But I don’t know what they made him do with it.”

"You need to stop beating yourself up about what happened to Bucky," Tony said.

"I should have stopped it, I should have been there for him Tony, he was always there for me," Steve argued, his voice raised. Tony's response was equally elevated; "how exactly were you going to do that? Your frozen ass wasn't much good to anyone. Hydra saw an opportunity and took it. Dammit Steve, even if you had been all singing and dancing in your fancy suit you had no clue Bucky survived. No clue."

"I was his captain, and his friend, he was my responsibility. He was there because of me and it was my fault he died in the first place."

Tony, taking a deep breath, stepped further into Steve’s personal space. "Maybe, just maybe, you don't have to always be the one in charge, making the decisions, taking all the responsibility," Tony's voice lowered, he was close enough for Steve to feel his breath, "maybe you let someone else make the tough calls for once."

Warm hands slowly snaked up and over his bare arms, his shoulders, Tony's eyes remaining focused on Steve's. He wanted to duck his head, to look away, but even more he wanted, needed to know where this was going. 

“Tony…”

His heart picked up its pace as Tony closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Steve’s. His body froze as his mind reeled: Tony was a whirlwind and he had just brought a bit more of that into Steve’s life. He hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t even considered it before but damn, it felt good. It felt perfectly natural to return the kiss, to rest his hands on Tony’s hips, grip tightening as Tony’s tongue slid between his lips. Becoming lost in the kiss, in Tony, Steve almost missed the sound of a door closing somewhere in the distance. Maybe he imagined it, for he heard nothing further, but they separated, both a little breathless. Tony coughed, a nervous energy and a hint of smile on his lips now. 

“That went better than expected.”

“What were you expecting?

“Not sure Cap, it was 50/50 on whether I’d make it out with all my teeth.”

They shared a nervous laugh before silence descended in the room. For a brief moment Steve’s worry over Bucky had subsided, thanks to Tony. “Look Steve, I’m not putting any pressure on here, and I also don’t want things to get weird around here - weirder than they already are, obviously.” Tony, as usual, talked expressively with his hands waving and gesturing, a trait completely opposite to Steve. “I’m also not going to pretend that we have a lot in common, or agree on everything, or that I’m not still a little jealous over how much time my father spent talking about you when I was a kid,” it was Tony’s way to try to ease tension where possible, “but hear me out. I get that you want Bucky back, I really do. I know he was your best friend, but he’s also your only real connection to that life you had. Trust me, though, you have a life, and a place here.” 

As Steve struggled to string together a suitable response, Tony leaned closer; “You also have a place waiting for you three doors down on the left, should you ever want it.” Tony left Steve in the office, standing agape at Tony’s invitation. Having spent much of his life, in particular the past few months, overthinking everything in minute detail, Steve decided to throw caution to the wind, just this once. 

Tony had his back to the door, removing his t-shirt as Steve entered. Light from the bedside lamp was dim, but sufficient to outline strong muscles in Tony’s shoulders and back. He watched as Tony (surprisingly) carefully folded his glasses and placed them on the table, next to a digital alarm clock that was probably never used. “If you’re staying, you could at least close the door.” 

Last chance: Steve could turn and walk back to his own room and they could forget that this had ever happened, or not. 

Quietly closing the bedroom door behind him, Steve made his way to the side of the bed where Tony waited. His fingers itched to touch Tony’s bare chest, to feel the warmth of his skin; the scar in the middle of his chest, a remnant of a life and trauma before caught Steve’s attention and he carefully traced it, top to bottom, with his index finger. Tony waited patiently, taking his cues from Steve. A single fingertip became two, became hands splayed across Tony’s chest, across his shoulders, lost in his too-long hair, pulling them closer. It was Steve who initiated the kiss, tentatively; Tony had made it clear that Steve had all the permission he needed, but he was still finding his feet, his head still a little fuzzy with the situation. Tony’s hands crept underneath Steve’s shirt, his touch like fire against Steve’s skin. 

“Tony, this...I…I just...”

“Steve, this is your show.”

Stepping back to catch his breath, and calm his nerves a little, he nodded before pulling his shirt over his head. He failed miserably at trying not to blush when Tony blatantly looked him up and down, biting his lip. 

“What? Can’t blame a girl,” Tony cheekily commented, a wink following. 

Steve sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Tony towards him to continue their kiss, this time less cautious. It was without much thought that Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s bare torso, leaning them both back onto the bed. 

“Why Cap, I didn’t know you were a…”

“Shut up, Tony.” 

There would be a time for smartass comments but this wasn’t it; this was a time for exploration and comfort, for Steve to let his hands wander across Tony’s battle scarred skin, for Tony to lick and tease, before taking Steve in his mouth and making him forget about everything beyond that room. Steve swore loudly as he came, fingers clenched tightly in bedsheets below his sweating body. Light-headed, he lay still, gathering his breath and thoughts until Tony crawled into bed next to him, pulling a sheet over them both. Steve rolled onto his side to face Tony, interlinking their fingers. 

“Tony, …”

“I know, Steve.”


End file.
